I Planned My Ex Boyfriend’s Wedding to Another Woman

Clara Montgomery's office smelled like fresh orchids and old money. She sat behind her glass desk with a grin so wide I could count her veneers.

"Sit, sit," she said, sliding a leather portfolio across the desk. "This is the one, Eliana. Grant-Robinson. Vineyard wedding, three hundred guests, budget with more zeros than I've ever seen." She tapped the cover like it was a winning lottery ticket. "Two of the biggest families on the East Coast. This puts us on the map."

I opened it. Turned one page.

Dominic Grant's face looked back at me from an engagement photo. Dark suit, easy smile, a woman in white lace tucked under his arm. My chest went tight, just for a second. Then it didn't.

"I'll take it," I said.

Clara blinked. "That's it? No questions?"

"When do I meet the clients?"

She laughed, pleased. "That's why you're my best. Consultation's Thursday. The Fairmont suite."

I closed the folder before she could see my hands.

---

Thursday morning, I sat in my car outside the Fairmont with the folder open on my lap. Five years, and his face still did something to my body that my mind refused to explain. I let myself look. Bespoke suit. Sawyer Robinson beside him, spine straight, chin up, the kind of woman who probably slept with her makeup already on.

I counted thirty seconds. Then I closed the folder, checked my lipstick in the visor mirror, and got out of the car.

By the time I stepped into the elevator, I was Eliana Sanders, lead coordinator. Nobody else.

---

The suite had floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Sound. Dominic was already seated at the conference table when I walked in, Sawyer beside him in cream silk, a legal pad in front of her instead of a bridal magazine.

He looked up.

I watched his hand find the edge of the table and grip it. The color left his face like someone had pulled a plug.

I smiled. Walked forward. Held out my hand.

"Congratulations on your engagement, Mr. Grant." My voice came out smooth, warm, professional. "I'm Eliana Sanders, your lead coordinator."

He stared at my hand like it was something from another life. It took him three full seconds to shake it. His palm was cold.

"Eliana," he said. Just that. My name, like it cost him something to say it.

"That's right." I turned to Sawyer, offered the same hand, the same smile. "Ms. Robinson. I've heard wonderful things."

Sawyer's eyes moved between us, quick and precise, like she was running numbers. "Have you two met before?"

"Seattle's a small circuit," I said, already opening my binder. "Shall we start with the venue?"

I walked them through the vineyard layout, the tent placement, the backup plan in case of rain. I laid out three floral palettes and let Sawyer pick without waiting for Dominic's opinion, because he wasn't giving one. He sat there, jaw tight, staring at me like I might disappear if he blinked.

"The ceremony runs four fifteen to four forty-five," I said. "Cocktail hour on the terrace. Reception in the barn, sunset toast at seven." I looked up. "Any questions, Mr. Grant?"

His throat moved. "No," he said. "None."

Sawyer's pen didn't stop moving across her legal pad the entire time. When we got to the catering budget, she cut in without looking up. "Double the wine allocation. Cut the string quartet, hire a full orchestra." She finally lifted her eyes to me. "Money isn't the concern here, Ms. Sanders. Execution is."

"Understood," I said, and wrote it down.

Dominic didn't say another word for the rest of the meeting. I didn't need him to.

---

Back at the office, Levi was waiting by my desk when I got in, my coffee already sitting there — oat milk, one pump of vanilla, no whip, the way I'd told him exactly once, months ago.

"Rough one?" he asked.

"Just logistics."

He studied me a second too long, the way he always did when he knew I was lying and had decided not to push it. "I took your two o'clock and the florist call. You looked like you needed the afternoon."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know." He shrugged, already walking back to his desk. "Drink your coffee before it's cold."

I watched him go and felt something in my chest loosen, just slightly, the way a held breath finally lets go. Levi never asked for anything. That was the thing about him I still didn't know what to do with.

That night, I lay in bed and stared up at my ceiling. Bare. White. No stars, glow-in-the-dark or otherwise — I'd made sure of that when I signed the lease.

I gave myself thirty seconds. I thought about a fire escape, and a boy with a split lip swearing something on his life, and the particular way sunlight used to slant through a cracked window in Brooklyn.

Then the thirty seconds were up.

I sat up, opened my laptop, and started building the timeline for Dominic Grant's wedding to another woman — column by column, hour by hour, like it was any other job. Because it was. That's what I kept telling myself, anyway, until I fell asleep with the cursor still blinking on an empty cell.